


Reach

by jazztrousers



Category: Captain America
Genre: Angst, Winter Solider brainwashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazztrousers/pseuds/jazztrousers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bucky-“ he begins, and the Soldier spits, audibly spits on to the table. Steve is surprised to find himself appalled. Bucky would never do that.<br/>“Don’t fucking call me that.” He growls, as if he can hear Steve’s thoughts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reach

The Soldier gives Steve a look that is equal parts amusement and disgust from the other side of the thick glass that separates them. His metal hand drums idly on the wooden table in front of him, the only sound in the dark interrogation room.

Steve, as it turns out, is bad at interrogating people. Especially people who were-

“Bucky-“ he begins, and the Soldier spits, audibly _spits_ on to the table. Steve is surprised to find himself appalled. _Bucky would never do that_.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” He growls, as if he can hear Steve’s thoughts.

Steve sighs, and decides to try again.

“Listen,” he doesn’t get any further before The Solider bangs that horrible, metal fist on the table, and Steve has to stop himself from flinching.

“No, you listen _, Captain America_.” He sneers. “As soon as I find my way out of here, I am going to complete my orders. My orders to slit your fucking throat. Do you understand me?”

The last part is softer, as if Steve is a slow child. Nodding, Steve rises from his seat, and briskly leaves. This isn’t an interrogation, it’s just a wall of senseless rage that he can’t penetrate.

 

 

On the other side of the door, Coulson is on Steve’s heels.

“Captain Rogers, I know it looks bad, but-“

“I know. We’ll keep trying.” Steve says, stalwart in voice but numb everywhere else.

Coulson offers him an encouraging smile before he can break away, shutting himself in a nearby bathroom.

 

He splashes some cold water on his face at the basin.

 _Deep breaths_ , Steve tells himself, but a breath does not come.

Seconds go by, and no air enters Steve’s throat.

Steve remembers his asthma attacks, before the serum. Wonders if he had been foolish to not keep an inhaler nearby, just in case.

Steve remembers the plane. The water in his lungs, how it had turned to ice at a lethal pace that was still agonisingly slow.

Then air fills his lungs, with an ugly, rasping sob. He shakes with the force of it, and there is something wet on his face.

_Blood?_

He raises his head a few inches, to the mirror above the basin, and is surprised again.

Steve thought he had forgotten how to cry. But he’s definitely crying now. Loud, ugly and painful.

He thinks of the train, the snow, how every muscle in his body screamed out to try and grab Bucky in time.

He thinks of the bombed-out pub in London, where he had mourned Bucky the first time. How he’d swallowed a bottle of gin and smashed it on the floor when it did nothing.

Peggy’s firm, comforting hand on his arm. Her kind eyes.

_He must have damn well thought you were worth it._

Steve wails louder, hands braced either side of the mirror and shoulders heaving. He doesn’t know what to do without Bucky, he never did.

 


End file.
